FIFTY-THREE
Byrne stood in his apartment. He knew it might be the last time he saw any of these things. He knew it was possible that this would be the last night of his life.
He had walked into so many apartments and houses in his time in homicide, places to which the victims had every intention of returning – five minutes, five hours, five days later.
The way victims left things always got to him. The bathrobe on the back of the chair, the steak defrosting in the sink, the unfolded laundry in the basket, the bookmarked book.
How would they look at his place? he wondered. Would it be Jessica? In so many ways, he hoped it would. She would understand.
The seven churches of Asia, all in Turkey. It was no coincidence.
He remembered hearing the story as if it were yesterday.
*
We were stationed in Incirlik, part of the 628th Airlift Support. This was between the wars, so things weren’t too crazy, right?
Now, what you have to remember is that the antiquities black market is off the charts in Turkey, or at least it was back then. There’s Persian, Roman, Greek antiquities. Stuff from the Crusades. If you want it, and you have the green, someone will find it for you.
So we get a little R & R, and my best buddy in the unit wants to take a ride to this place called Pasli. Four of us head out, taking the Persian Road south, then off road for hours. Up and down these dirt roads. Nothing. It’s almost sundown now, and we’re not going to find it. We see this old guy walking up one of the back roads. Had to be ninety and change.
My buddy talks a little Turkish to him, and the guy points at his feet. My buddy says something about shoes, getting him new shoes, but the guy shakes his head. He points at his feet again. This goes on for awhile, back and forth. Dead end.
On the way back to the Jeep my buddy stops, jumps up and down a few times. He suddenly realizes what the old man was saying. The place we were looking for was right under us. The ground was hollow.
We make our way down this cliff, and come upon this old door. Thick old door bolted right into the rock. For the rest of the night my buddies try to shoulder the thing open. No luck. I didn’t want anything to do with it, but you know how it is. You get enough booze in you and you’ll do anything.
Just before dawn, with my buddies passed out, I thought I’d give it a shot. I go down there, and I just touch the door, and it opens. All I did was touch it.
Inside was this big room, carved right out of the mountain. I run my flashlight around, and I see what I figure is dust. Big balls of dust. Or maybe it was rocks. But it wasn’t. You know what it was? It was skeletons, man. Little skeletons. A whole room full of them. They were all placed neatly, side by side.
At that moment something happened inside me, Kevin. I think I actually heard my heart change. I fell to my knees, and I tried to cry, but nothing came out. Believe me, it came out later. Almost every day since. But then, in the middle of this night, I had to ask myself why. I don’t mean why they did it, whoever did it. I mean, why did the door open for me?
One hundred dead children. God doesn’t put that in front of you for no reason, does He? No way.
I came back stateside, bummed around for two years, drank too much. I knew I wasn’t smart enough to become a doctor or a lawyer or anything. So I decided to become a cop. How else could I do good, man?
How else could I do good?
Marcus Haines had looked at Byrne that night, asking the question.
How else could I do good?
A few days later Marcus Haines stepped in front of another door. Byrne remembered the burst of automatic-weapon fire, recalled the red mist that was the back of Marcus Haines’s head.
This time the door wasn’t in Turkey but rather a North Philly hellhole, a place where children were made slaves to a drug called crack cocaine. Marcus Haines had finally found the door where the souls of another hundred children lay, and had taken a bullet meant for Kevin Byrne.
How do you repay a debt like that?
Byrne picked up the picture of Marcus, then took Gabriel’s school photograph out of his pocket. He held them side by side. Marcus looked so much like Gabriel, the son he never lived to know. Byrne recalled that night with Tanya Wilkins, how he had hit her. She had been pregnant with Gabriel at that moment. He hadn’t known then.
Byrne took out his cell, made the call. The woman answered in two rings.
‘Do you know who this is?’ Byrne asked.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘We’ve been expecting your call.’
‘We?’
‘My son and I.’
Byrne said nothing.
‘God chooses us for a reason,’ the woman said. ‘Are you ready?’
‘I’m ready.’
There was a moment of silence. Then, ‘Do you know what you must do?’
‘I do.’
‘It has all led to this moment. Do you feel the weight of providence?’
More than you know, Byrne thought. ‘Yes. But there’s something I need first.’
‘I am listening.’
Byrne told her what he needed. The woman agreed to get it for him.
‘Do you want to know where we will be?’ she asked.
‘I know where you’ll be. I just don’t know how long it will take me to get there.’
‘We are patient.’
‘Expect me.’
Byrne clicked off, sent Jessica a text message. He put his cell phone on his dining-room table, next to his service weapon and his badge.
How else could I do good, man?
Kevin Byrne knew.